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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29594367">Loving Sherlock Holmes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/backinmysherlockphaseiguess/pseuds/backinmysherlockphaseiguess'>backinmysherlockphaseiguess</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Heavy Angst, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Post-Season/Series 02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:33:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,325</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29594367</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/backinmysherlockphaseiguess/pseuds/backinmysherlockphaseiguess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been a month since Sherlock’s suicide and Lestrade hasn’t worked up the courage to visit the famous (fraudulent?) detective’s grave. John decides that it’s time to confront him about it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Loving Sherlock Holmes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“They found her yesterday.” It’s rare that Lestrade ever joins them in the morgue, but he assumes that Molly and John are glad to have the company. “Outside a warehouse. In the snow, I think. Can’t remember if it snowed out there or not.”<br/>
“It did,” John says.<br/>
“Oh, right–” Lestrade coughs. It’s been over a month and he hasn’t yet gone to see Sherlock. He’s ashamed in a way; John asks him weekly if he’d like to go, but he always turns it down. He blames the work. Truthfully, there hasn’t been a real case for ages. Not one he’d ask a grieving John to solve.<br/>
Lestrade hadn’t expected John to answer when he phoned him last night. Sure, they’ve talked, but not really: not at length. When John started sobbing over the line an hour into the details of the case, Lestrade physically put the phone down.<br/>
He’d never heard John crying before. It sounded foreign, impossible even. Each heaving breath yielded a horrible, fragmented syllable. “God, Greg, I just – just don’t understand.”<br/>
Was it terrible? Terrible that the death of one man could cause another so much pain? Lestrade’s sure that some could even call that beautiful; people who didn’t really know Sherlock, but saw his legacy through his best friend’s grief. People like that think they know human nature. They think it’s all black and white. We love each other so much in this world and grief is just another way of loving. Loving beyond the possibility of requite.<br/>
Lestrade just can't see it that way.<br/>
“Yeah. He’s right near there.”<br/>
“How is–”<br/>
“How is Sherlock? Dead, Greg. Dead.” Lestrade thinks John surprises even himself with the answer. Molly makes a small yelp. Everyone’s off today.<br/>
Lestrade’s a bit more careful this time. “I was gonna ask you how Mrs. Hudson is. You were with her, right?” The words came out more condescending than he’d planned. Countering this, he speaks a bit deeper. “Haven’t talked to her in a while.”<br/>
“Yes. Um, yes. She was there. She’s,” he clears his throat, “fine. Just fine.” John could tell the difference, couldn’t he? Shit.<br/>
“That’s good. That’s good,” turning back to the body, he addresses Molly, “So, right, you’ve looked over her? Not much outside damage?”<br/>
“Exterior injury. Um – no.”<br/>
“Right. Right, well – anyways. They found her around three. Nobody around.”<br/>
Yeah, no shit there’d be nobody around, it’s a murder scene,” John says. He’s barely looking at the body. “Look, was there blood in the snow or anything? Footprints? Anything you haven’t told me already?”<br/>
“We didn’t think about footprints.” We didn’t think about footprints. Not the right move, and it shows.<br/>
John starts towards the door. Raising one finger, he looks away, and slowly, so slowly that it almost doesn’t happen at all, the finger turns into a fist. Then it’s hell. “<i>Of course you didn’t bloody think about footprints!<i>” Lestrade can see the urge in John’s eyes to flip the body over. He wants to kick down the door and rip out every drawer in the room. Instead, John just paces. “Of course you didn’t think about footprints. Because you didn’t know if it was snowing, did you? Did you? Because you weren’t there. You can’t go anywhere near him. You…”<br/>
Please, John,” Molly interrupts a momentary peace. “Please. It’s not the time.”<br/>
John stops. “Not the time? <i>Not the time?<i> It’s never the time! Not for Greg. So much <i>work<i> and so much to <i>do<i> that he can’t even visit him once. Not once. Not with me, or with you, Molly, not even with Mrs. Hudson, the poor woman!”<br/>
Then he’s contained. His face twitches with anger, but he’s still. “And,” John adds, more calmly now, “yeah, and, Greg, it’s just as bad as you’d think. Seeing the name there… seeing <i>his<i> name on that slab of marble. God, it’s terrible. It’s like he’s watching you inside it. But you know he isn’t. Because he’s under it. Deep. No, Molly, don’t put the body away.” She stops mid-action and uncovers it again.<br/>
“We could all just come back tomorrow,” she says, “if that. If that helps.”<br/>
“Yeah. Let’s do that.” Lestrade sighs with confirmation, assessing the energy of the room around him.<br/>
Should he go now? No, he couldn’t leave John alone with Molly; John would start interrogating her like last time. Well, like the first time. It must have been hours long, that conversation. Where was Molly when she saw the body fall? Did she believe that Sherlock was a fraud? Did she love him? Is that why she wasn’t speaking?<br/>
Loving Sherlock. It’s not an easy thing to do, and an even harder thing to admit. From what he’d gathered looking at John and Sherlock together, it’s like loving a machine, or a half-man. John never admitted to loving Sherlock, and knowing John, it’s not likely that he’ll ever admit it.<br/>
Molly, though, Molly was a bit more obvious. She always had these shoes she’d wear when Sherlock was around. At first, Lestrade was proud of himself for noticing what Sherlock hadn’t, but it grew sort of sad after a while. They wore down. Eventually, Molly switched back to tennis shoes.<br/>
How could you love a man like Sherlock and go on loving him?<br/>
It seems impossible to Lestrade. He supposes it could have been Sherlock’s looks. He always did keep himself looking so nice. But with these two, it couldn’t have been the looks forever. There was something magical about the man; yeah, there was the obvious, his deduction skills, his ability to tell you absolutely everything about you in a second – there were times that Sherlock told Lestrade things he didn’t even know about himself – but there was something else, too. Only they would know.<br/>
“Look,” says John, finally, “I don’t care if you think he’s a fraud or anything. Maybe he was. But he was still a man. Still a person. And even if he did lie, he still deserves a little respect. From you, from everyone.”<br/>
“Yeah, I know,” Lestrade speaks clearly this time, “I’m sorry.”<br/>
“Don’t be. Don’t be, Greg. He was just – I can’t get the words out – he couldn’t have lied to all of us. You made me write down what he said in that phone call, remember? Well, I – I left out a bit. I didn’t tell you everything–” Lestrade is silent. He shouldn’t say anything, not yet.<br/>
“Well, I said that he told me he was a fraud. That he was fake.” Molly suddenly stirs from an almost dreamlike silence and re-covers the body. “Molly?”<br/>
“Oh, uh. Just cleaning up. We don’t need her in the way.” As she turns, Lestrade notices the faintest reflection of her eyes in the fluorescent light. Were they always that red?<br/>
John continues, barely looking at Molly. “He told me he was a fraud. Said that he made up the character of Moriarty. And that…” He shakes his head. “That he made it all up. But I didn’t tell you because I wanted to. He said to me, he said, I remember: ‘I want you to tell Lestrade. I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly…in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you…’ I’ve had that line stuck in my head for weeks. Why did I need to tell everyone? What bloody good would that do? God, it makes me so angry. He couldn’t have lied.”<br/>
“I know he couldn’t have.” It’s true.<br/>
“Then why…<i>why, Greg,<i> won’t you just go see him with me?”<br/>
“Please, Greg, John, let’s just all go.” Molly’s tears are clearer now. “It doesn’t matter anymore."<br/>
"He’s gone.”<br/>
Lestrade can’t tell which one of them – Molly or John – echoed that last phrase. “He’s gone.” But it doesn't matter. It wouldn’t have meant anything to either of them. Because loving Sherlock Holmes never really stops. It never really gets better. And he’s never really gone.</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My second fic of the day! I got really excited and wrote this all in a few hours. I haven't decided if I should plan to write more chapters/parts as this seems pretty complete (besides the case). Let me know what you think! – backinmysherlockphaseiguess</p></blockquote></div></div>
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